


We See Ghosts

by livelovelaw



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelovelaw/pseuds/livelovelaw
Summary: Ten years ago, Rey Kenobi got into a horrible accident. After waking up from a week long coma, she knew she’s not the normal girl she used to be. She can now see ghosts.How will she handle her every day when her new boss is the most haunted man in the world?(If you have seen this title here before, it’s because this is a rewrite. Actually, no. I retained only the title but the plot is different. I dunno but it seemed like it was a good idea at that time. Happy Halloween!)
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Ibuprofen

Chapter 1: Ibuprofen

There was only one thought in her head as the scenery outside her cab window changed from dilapidated apartments to tall skyscrapers of different shapes and sizes: going out will always be a mistake. If she was given a choice, Rey would have preferred to stay at the confines of her abode. But she wasn’t the kind that was born with a silver spoon so, choice is off of the table. 

It was just a week ago when she was browsing on some random digital art-related discussion websites when username 69Trooper69, not that he is in any way relevant, posted a screen shot of a job vacancy for an illustrator in none other than The First Order Studios. Usually she doesn’t pay attention to corporate employment for she always settled to what is safe. So for most of her career, if you could call it that, was always freelancing and getting small illustrator jobs over the internet. It paid less, yes. Most of the time, she needed to juggle three to five projects just to keep herself afloat. It didn’t matter how exhausting it was; what matters is she is safe. She really had no intention to apply for the job but curiosity made her click the link. After all, the First Order Studios is the largest game publisher in the world. 

Full-Time Home Based Graphic Illustrator, the heading said. 

Her eyes squinted on the word ‘home based’ to check if she had read the heading correctly. She gulped, pausing to think for a sudden interest blossomed in her chest. Not only was the job home-based, but the prospective employee, when hired, shall have full employee benefits: this includes medical insurance, among a list of so many others. 

It was too good to be true: large corporations don’t usually go for the work-at-home set-up. Meanwhile, freelance jobs don’t carry with them free medical insurance. 

The First Order offers both. 

She bit her lip to contemplate, but never really took her time to assess the risks versus the possible benefits of a would-be employment. If there’s some downside, her answer to it was a sent resume with her attached digital portfolio. 

She did not expect that they would actually call her, though. The First Order is on top of the video game industry for a reason. There are a lot of artists out there who are better than her; with more experience, or just those who had a degree in some fancy art school. She had no posh school that she can be proud of. She was nothing in the art world. Except that one mundane morning, some HR Personnel from the Order called her. He said something about her digital drawings, which in retrospect she cannot remember because first of all, why would the Order call her? Second, she’s not used to taking calls that her heart pounded furiously on her chest; the sound, literally and figuratively, blocking her ears from hearing any word. All she remembered was that she kept saying ‘yes’.

When it was all over, she was surprised to see an e-mail setting her up for an interview – a physical interview.

That interview is today. 

Going out will always be a mistake, the thought repeated in her head. Case in point, she could not help but notice that her driver had been staring at her from his rear view mirror ever since she rode his cab. She would have called him out; told him to mind his own business, but talking to strangers was never her strongest suit. So she settled to lowering her head; one of her hands reaching for her bangs. She brushed them down, making sure that most of the hair would cover her eyes. It did help a bit on her end but her gut tells her that he’s still staring. She tried her best to ignore him by keeping her sights on the disgusting, somewhat deteriorating, colorless chewing gum that was stuck on the back of the driver seat’s headrest. 

For the medical insurance, she told herself.

“Isn’t it a little bit too hot for a turtle neck, missus?” The driver said as he pulled over to her destination. Rey immediately pulled out her wallet, taking several bills at once. She handed it over to him without answering his question. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t like random people asking about her business either. “Please keep the change.” She said instead, nearly choking on her words. 

Stepping out of the cab was a breath of fresh air but that same air had choked her upon seeing the building she was supposed to enter. Intimidating but majestic to say the least, the photos on the internet don’t do justice on how the First Order building was an architectural wonder. Rey would have stayed outside; breaking her neck probably, just to stare and memorize its structure for reference to future art. But she lowered her head in an instant. Sidewalks in the central part of the city are the busiest. It’s best not to stay on them, she thought. 

One foot across the large automatic glass door and she felt a quick whiff of air behind her. 

“Identification?” A man suddenly said.

Not only did she flinch, but Rey actually took a step back; one arm already covering her face. 

“Ma’am?” The security in question inquired. “Identification, please?” He repeated, trying to sound nice although his brows were crumpling at her. 

“Oh…” She mumbled nervously after realizing that the voice and the air came from a man: a big, middle-aged man who is a little round on the sides. His head was also round, hairless, and shiny. 

“I- I have it here…” She whipped her backpack to her chest in an instant, one hand already digging deep. She hasn’t been searching for a full thirty seconds when her breath hitched. The thought of making other people wait made her forehead sweat. “Can you…” She whispered, stepping to the side in slight panic. She placed her bag on the newly polished floor as she knelt down, both hands now in desperate excavation. 

A rustle and small quiet murmurs soon followed. From her peripheral vision, Rey could see the security raise their hands to their heads; saluting to whoever, and greeting him. The way security gave him the utmost regard made Rey creep further to the side; almost hiding beside one of the turnstiles. She kept her head down, quietly making sure that she won’t be a hindrance to this ‘sir’ as he made his way to the entrance. He passed by her finally, when she saw the impeccably crisp bottom hem of his black trousers-pants and his black leather shoes that were too were sleek and shiny; its soles, blood red. 

Tip-tap, his heels clicked. 

For a while, Rey kept still; waiting for the sound of the man’s rather expensive pair of shoes to disappear. But as he moved further away, the sound in question did not retreat. Rather, it became squeaky; squelching even, as if his shoes were drenched or he was walking through some damp floor. 

It was curiosity that made her look; but the surprise of it all made her duck in the wrong direction and hit her head on the side of the turnstile. 

“You okay, ma’am?” Security inquired.

The bald man’s concern didn’t go unnoticed. Rey would have replied like a decent human being but her lips merely quivered. In sheer haste, Rey rummaged her bag. In some form of miracle, she was finally able to take out her wallet; and from that wallet, the questioned identification card. She held her breath as she stood up, nearly shoving the plastic card to the security. 

Her focus was somewhere else, though; her gaze tracing the path towards the elevator. The floor was crisp, shiny, well-polished white; and most of all – dry. She blinked, once, twice; her mind racing, contemplating if she should say something about it. 

“You’re on the sixteenth floor, Ms. Kenobi.” The security said. 

Rey glanced at the bald man with the greatest sense of urgency. She was ready to report the things she saw but he met her with a look she knew all too well. Holding her bag tightly towards her chest, Rey brisk walked towards the elevator instead.

“She is the weirdest one yet.” She heard one of the security guards say. 

\---

She spent the elevator ride staring absentmindedly at its floor. The lift she was on was obviously different from the man with the blood red soles, and yet she could not stop herself from picturing the tracks he had left behind. Rey closed her eyes and sighed. She convinced herself that she was being a little bit paranoid. After all, it’s been almost half a year since she was really outside her home. 

There was nothing there, she thought. It was just the color of his soles.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here.” Rey heard the instant the elevator doors began to open. 

The woman who greeted her sounded relieved but that was it. There were no pleasantries; Rey never even got her name, or her position in the First Order, or the reason why she was already signaling to follow her. All Rey got was her physical appearance – blonde; blue-eyed; stood a foot taller than her, and wore an all-black ensemble. Despite the lack of information, Rey stupidly felt that she had the obligation to follow. 

From the elevator, they immediately turned right to an open space with couches; a lot of them situated strategically to face a large, bold-faced sign with white LED lights that read “First Order”. Directly below the sign was an empty reception desk. 

“That is the meeting room.” The tall woman pointed to her left. 

Rey pondered why the reception was empty. More importantly, she wondered why she was having this little office tour. But the woman already disappeared behind the glass door beside the reception desk before she had the chance to ask. Peculiar, but she followed her still. 

Soon, Rey was greeted by a wide hallway with walls made of glass panels. 

“At the end of the hallway is the pantry…” was the last thing she heard from the tall woman before her palms began to sweat as her eyes once again played tricks on her. The wide hallway in question, Rey gave it a short glance. There were no lights inside of the pantry, but there was…something.

“Got it?” It was the blonde woman’s voice that stopped her from having a full nervous breakdown. The woman faced her, thankfully blocking her view of the pantry. She then placed both her hands on her shoulders; her grip tightening when both of them heard the elevator doors open. 

“Ms. Kenobi, whatever you do, do not open your mouth.” She hissed a warning.

“Phasma!” A loud roar echoed through the empty halls of the whole floor. The tall woman removed her hands from her shoulders only to fix her blazer and stand with confidence. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I need a fucking door leading directly to my fucking office – where the fuck are you?” The man’s deep voice rocked the floor once more. 

Rey swore that that the anticipation brought anxiety in her veins. He sounded like a big man; a very pissed, large man. It felt like he was hunting them down, and the mere thought of a man like that coming at you, not to mention cursing at you, is downright terrifying. Rey kept her head down, but not before shifting her position to hide behind the blonde woman, who was called Phasma, who seemed to be unmoved by the whole debacle.

“Where the fuck is Mitaka?” Rey couldn’t help but cringe. He finally found them.

“He’s gone.” Phasma answered calmly; calmer than what Rey had expected. It appears the angry man wasn’t scaring the blonde woman.

“What do you mean, gone?” He replied with the most threatening voice she has ever heard in her entire life. It made Rey shrink; she wanted to apologize in behalf of Mitaka for some reason. But she kept her head down for there’s no force in heaven and earth that would make her do that. If anything, she would really want to be excused from their narrative; disappear probably, or melt straight to the floor if possible. She just wanted a chance to have free medical insurance and not be involved in some word war she doesn’t even know about. Speaking of which, when and where is her interview?

Her contemplation was disturbed by the tortious, heavy silence that followed. 

“You know very well what I mean, Ren.” Phasma’s voice finally broke the silence. 

“And?” Ren continued; his voice still threatening and sharp.

“And, I’ve found his replacement.” Phasma replied, sounding proud. “Meet Ms. Rey Kenobi, your new secretary.”

Rey immediately snapped her head towards Phasma. She crumpled her brows, confused on why she heard her name and the word secretary in one sentence. But the blonde woman merely responded with an icy stare; her blue eyes glaring at her like daggers. Once more, she placed her hands on her shoulders; literally shoving her towards the angry man.

“Ms. Kenobi, this is your new boss. The Chief Executive Officer of the First Order Studios, Kylo Ren.” She said

“Good.” Kylo Ren replied and the air went still. 

—

Just like with Phasma, there were no pleasantries with Mr. Ren. A loud click of his tongue coupled with a command telling her to get rid of her bangs was all she got. Just like with Phasma, she unwittingly followed, still. In the end, she brushed the brown hair covering her eyes to the sides of her face.

How she got in this situation was a misunderstanding caused by Phasma. Yet, she could no longer get a hold of the blonde woman for she exited was as quickly as she fed Rey to the lion in the room. Mr. Ren too, was walking away now; his strides long and his pace too fast. 

Just like the impression Rey had when she first heard his voice, turns out, Mr. Ren, really, is a big man. Towering, but not only that, he was in every aspect, packed. Rey wasn’t sure if she used the right word to describe him but his build can be most appropriately likened to every military protagonist in every first person shooting game (if he wasn’t already wearing that expensive looking suit, that is). His back was so wide that it was impossible to see what’s in front of her. This though, she had no complaints. The problem was he seemed like he was always in a rush. As quick as their somewhat introduction, Mr. Ren disappeared behind the enormous, wooden double doors at the other end of the hallway. By the time she was able to catch him, Rey was already finding her breath. 

Large spaces are not her cup of tea. It overwhelms her, for one; and the way she was greeted by the immense size of Mr. Ren’s office, or what Rey thinks is his office, nearly drowned her. It was one rectangular room, sure, but it was was massive! The floor area was spacious enough to be a mansion. It had a long conference table which she thought was totally unnecessary. After all, Phasma already mentioned a meeting room. Anyhow, beside the long table were sets of couches; like a receiving area or something. From the walls draped gigantic expensive looking curtains. They appeared heavy enough that she was sure that it would crush her the moment it falls but that’s not really Rey’s issue. The enormous crystal chandelier hanging right in the middle of the ceiling, along with the fact that the room had weird sets of corners, unusual lack of doors, and excessive amount of blind spots were her issues. 

The unreasonableness of the office left a bad taste in her mouth. He is CEO, not a prince or some Alderanian royalty. 

“Sit.” Mr. Ren commanded as he proceeded to take a seat at his office desk. Weirdly enough, his desk was the simplest piece of furniture in the room. There was no intricate design, just matte black and rectangular. It stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest of the excessive furnishings in his office. 

Rey sat mechanically; obeying the command like an idiot. The anxiety had crippled her brain, for all she thought was how to tell Mr. Ren that she did not apply as his secretary. She knew what to say, the problem was how she was going to say it. She rarely even talks to anyone, what more of trying to prove a point. 

Rey heard Mr. Ren’s chair creak heavily as he sat, and for a while she thought she had a chance to speak. She fumbled her thumbs while practicing mentally the proper words to say. She tried to open her mouth but she ended up squealing like a distressed mouse. She doubts that he heard her for simultaneously, Mr. Ren suddenly slammed his fist on his desk, startling her to the core.

“Fuck.” He cursed. 

The way he shouted the expletive was enough for Rey to take her gaze off the floor. She found him massaging the bridge of his nose and it was the first time she saw him; like really saw him.

He had the blackest hair, that she already know upon chance upward glances. But what she didn’t see was that they were thick, wavy, and surprisingly long. Rey wasn’t a fan of men with long hair, especially in her art, but the way Mr. Ren’s soft waves almost reached his shoulders really suited the shape of his face. She hasn’t seen his eyes, since he kept them closed real tight. But his nose that he had been massaging had a prominent bridge; lips, which seemingly were in a perpetual scowl were plump and in the shade of reddish-pink.

His features had her conflicted. Everything seemed to be too big. 

Art is all about the ratios. His features, however, were off symmetry. In fact, individually speaking, each part lacked balance. Yet, despite each being overwhelming, they were incredibly perfect when combined. Rey has never seen a man with such individually prominent and distinct features merged to become one exquisite face. She had the greatest temptation to draw him. In that instant she knew that he would be one art reference that she wouldn’t get tired of, even though she was yet to see his eyes. In whatever way she tries to draw him - whatever character; whatever costume, he is bewitching. 

Too captivating that she didn’t notice that she wasn’t the only one who’s been staring. 

The First Order Studios’ building had been playing tricks on her eyes ever since she stepped foot on it. From the man with red soles whom she saw leaving blood stained tracks on the lobby floor to the old man with the walking stick floating near the pantry door. This one, the woman standing on the far edge of Mr. Ren’s desk - with her brunette hair braided to the side like she was some kind of princess, couple that with the flower-patterned floor-length dress with a deep plunge on its neckline that she wore- she was the same. 

Rey immediately closed her eyes. She convinced herself that it was just her mind - her paranoid brain which had been so anxious at the thought of going out in the open again. If she counts to ten, everything will get back to normal.

The way Mr. Ren hissed in sheer anguish and pure distress made Rey open her eyes too soon; and the sight, left her skin crawling in terror. 

She - the woman - was staring straight at her. She knows that Rey can see her despite the empty, hollow sockets that replaced her eyes. She had this smile, wicked and mischievous, behind her bony pointing finger that was placed on top of her lips. Rey’s lips quivered; her voice box only managing to bring out a helpless, minute squeal. But the woman seemed to reply with a grim ‘shush’ that the smallest hairs on her nape rose in utmost tension. She felt stuck in her seat, unmoved while the terror swallowed her whole. Her hope, as it seems, was to gaze away from the specter of the woman to look at the only human in her presence. More often than not, beings like the woman disappear when they notice that she is able to get help.

“Get me some ibuprofen.” Mr. Ren didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary for he continued to massage his head after giving out the command.

She couldn’t even manage to voice out a plea for help, neither could she bring herself to move to accommodate his orders. Instead, it was the woman in the flower-patterned dress who seemed to be paying attention to what he said. She dropped her hands to her side; her head slowly turning to focus her attention back to Mr. Ren. She began to lower herself, bending towards the CEO of The First Order Studios, until her ghastly face was too close to his cheek. Her mouth watered as she sniffed him, like he was some delicious meat. She had this menacing smile, still, which turned malevolent when she bared open mouth - a bottomless pit of black - wide agape that her jaws seemed to dislocate itself. 

She was going to eat him.

“No…” Her brain forced the words out in pure instinct. What she didn’t notice that it was audible enough that it was able to piss off both the living and the dead. 

“What did you say?” Finally, Mr. Ren opened his eyes. At the same time, the wraith snapped her nasty head towards her, snarling.

All Rey could do was stare in her seat. How it came to this, she did not know. All she wanted was free medical insurance. 

There were now two pairs of eyes directly glaring at her. One pair from the living, which despite the fact that he can barely keep them open because of the pain, were enough to drain the remaining strength on her knees. The other pair were not eyes but empty sockets, dead and horrifying, and below it was her snarling mouth that surprisingly slowly came to a close. 

The woman in the flower-patterned dress suddenly stood upright; frozen in place. It was as if she forgot where she was; or the fact that there is someone in the room who can see her; or that at one point she was trying to devour Mr. Ren whole. She was just there, at the edge of Mr. Ren’s desk, just standing still. Then for some reason, she started to wail; her hollow sockets bawling out empty tears. She then paced, back and forth multiple times, until she disappeared from Rey’s line of sight. 

Rey never asks why. She really didn’t want to know why apparitions and ghosts do the things they do.

“I asked you -” Mr. Ren suddenly said before she could calm down. He ended up grunting agonizingly; his obvious discomfort stopping him from saying anything else. He was very pale now, yet he still wouldn’t let go of what he thought was a form of defiance. Not that Rey took offense, of course he wouldn’t know that she wasn’t saying ‘no’ to him per se. Now that it was over, her mind finally realized the urgency. Ibuprofen, she has one in her bag - always. Once again she began to dig deep inside her backpack, this time for her medicine pouch. 

It was unusual, but she heard the sound of something breaking. It was the loudest cracking sound that probably heard in her life that it made her shudder. Soon it was followed by loud thudding noises that rhythmically followed a constant beat - only a second apart, she counted. She lifted her head to find its source but it left her in such a state of shock that she didn’t move. Neither could she look away even if she wanted to. It was the woman with the flower patterned dress hanging from the ceiling of Mr. Ren’s office. Her neck had broken grotesquely, bending to a full ninety degrees; perpendicular to the rest of her body. The force from her fall had left her swaying. Back and forth, back and forth she went, that her feet kept hitting something that it made those thudding noises. 

Rey gulped, the sight before her barely registering. All she kept thinking was Mr. Ren’s headache wouldn’t be cured by ibuprofen.


	2. The Haunted Man

She saw him reach something on his desk. What she caught after that was he swallowed something. It must be the ibuprofen, it’s just that she can’t remember when she gave it to him. She heard him sigh next, then his mouth started moving. He was saying something, she can hear his deep voice rumbling in her ears. He sounded calmer than the last time he spoke but she can’t make anything out of it. 

While completely a stranger, Kylo Ren’s mere presence should have been a source of comfort. But she could not see him. His features, no matter how pleasing, blurred before her. She saw everything in blotched colors; like a messy palette, overpowering each tone that she can no longer distinguish the man from his office. The only thing that’s solid and clear is the woman, whose head now laid parallel to her own shoulders. 

It is gruesome, what gravity and a simple rope can do to a body. It breaks your neck; literally snapping the bone that connects your head to your spinal cord. If it was any consolation for her and the woman, the latter’s head was not severed. The skin around her neck, while grotesquely twisted, was still intact. It was the only thing that held her head from completely falling.

Rey shivered; the hair-raising, bone-chilling kind that she may have spent all her energy just by trembling. She wanted to look away. Heavens know how desperate she is to stare at something else but not even her eye muscles moved according to her will. Instead, they unwillingly glued themselves to the woman’s hollow eyes, where they ended up staring at each other as if waiting who between them would fold. In this is a sick game between the living and the dead, Rey admits defeat. She lost from the beginning, it’s just that she cannot make herself look away. Worse, she started to break cold sweats, from her pits to her face, as she stared back. Couple that with her heart threatening to explode on her chest and her insides churning with such violence. She felt sick. She wanted to vomit.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” It was a sentence her mind surprisingly comprehended despite everything. A baritone of a voice, speaking about the biggest understatement of her entire life. She looks like she’d seen a ghost because she is seeing one. Right this instant, thank you very much. 

But of course, the owner of the voice does not know that. Kylo Ren merely stated the obvious — a recognition of her change in behavior without any trigger. Curiosity prompts the statement; sometimes with the intention to ridicule. Either way, with her terribly shaking from head to foot, her mouth gaping, and with her eyes wide like the chandelier above them was going to give her a heart attack, sooner or later, anyone is bound to notice that she is acting nothing of the ordinary. 

Still, his words brought her attention to him. It made her remember that she can move. She cocked her head down to his eye level, catching him with a smirk on his face, before immediately forcing herself to stare at the floor. 

Feet. 

The woman’s dead feet was still swaying, albeit this time, slowly, lightly hitting Kylo Ren directly on his forehead. It was the source of his headache, she theorized this much but with that mocking smirk of his, she doesn’t even care if the ghost of a woman suddenly decides to kick him in the forehead instead.

Seriously, the audacity.

He wasn’t curious so to speak. There was neither an intention to ridicule. He is pleased with himself; utterly enjoying his capabilities of eliciting fear at the mere sight of him. He did it to Phasma, his own employee, what more to a perfect stranger. 

He probably thought he scared her too, and he loves it. Joke’s on him though, if he’d seen this woman, chances are he would scurry in terror too.

She hated his kind — people who enjoy striking fear in others are those who do not have the slightest idea on what it truly is. 

She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Let it go, she thought. He wasn’t worth her time. He was just another jerk, one with power and authority over others. So much, that he’s probably drowning in it. He scares people, just because he can. But there was a feeling burning her insides for some reason. And it came at the worst time. Maybe because it’s been so long since she faced another human being that she had forgotten. Even though this power play is worst by human standards, she felt jealous of him for being able to do anything just for the heck of it. And that jealousy, malicious as it is, is threatening to manifest itself. They should all burn to the ground. Make them know what real terror is.

“Oh, yes.” She blurted, albeit nervously. “There is a dead woman hanging right in front of us now.” She gestured her hands confidently, although she could feel it trembling. 

There was heavy silence after that, uncomfortable enough to make her fidget. Her resolve suddenly fizzled, and the consequences of talking about her reality dawned to her. She forced her eyes to a close. If ghosts have frightened her to the core, those alive made it difficult to even exist. But it was already too late. Instead, she readied herself to swallow the barrage of judgements and ridicule that would come after. 

Weirdo.

Wacko. 

Nut-job. 

Loose screw. 

FREAK!

She can hear it already in her head. 

“I have a board meeting in ten minutes.” He said instead. 

Her surprise made her raise her head, only to find him with his clasped hands resting beneath his nose. His palms covered his mouth, and there was no telling if he was playing with her. She averted her gaze afterwards. After all, the ghastly feet were still there. 

She answered, not knowing if what came out of her mouth was a large gasp or a word. 

“Board meeting. In ten minutes.” He repeated casually. “Board meetings are exceptionally boring. Take notes for me, and...”

She scoffed, rudely cutting him from speaking. It was a mistake to try to even scare the shit out of a man who’s not afraid of anything. He wasn’t even trying to take her seriously. “I did not apply as your secretary.” She hissed in anger. 

He responded with a pompous scoff of his own. “I know.” He said. “I did tell HR to set this interview.”

It was an answer she did not expect. A response which, if she wasn’t completely aware of the woman hanging between them, would make her stare rudely. He was so pissed about Mitaka, and Phasma made it look certain that she was his replacement. She didn’t know how to react to that.

“Your digital portfolio is exceptionally brilliant, Ms. Kenobi. Some are a little bit dark, but otherwise brilliant.” He continued, his tone nonchalant but edging with slight annoyance. “I was meaning to ask you where you got your inspiration. They are too frightening to based from someone’s imagination. Turns out, they are real. Because you see ghosts.” 

The last part left her dumbstruck. He said it so casually, like it was the gospel truth; or worse, as if it was the most normal thing to say in a conversation. She found herself in the middle of mental struggle for finally, for some unworldly reason, this jerk believed her. She longed it for so long and yet, it came from the mouth of someone who cursed his way to get a new secretary. He does have a foul mouth, she thought, but does that make him a liar? She wanted to read his mind; dive deep in his thoughts just to know if there is an ounce of truth she can cling onto. But it frustrated her that she had no ability whatsoever to ascertain his words. She can’t decipher the intent of his nonchalance neither could she read him. Hell, she can’t even stare at him directly in his eyes without having a full view of that disgusting dead feet.

If it was some joke, then making her feel hopeful is the epitome of cruelty.

“What the actual fuck?” She finally cried in defeat. He was too much, she decided; even more cruel than those who did not believe her. At least they do not pretend. They make fun of her, which in the natural order of things, he should too. He isn’t suppose to believe her.

“Was she wearing a dress?” He asked suddenly. 

Her mouth fell open. This time, she turned to face him. As if the mere action of it would help her comprehend. 

She heard his chair creak. He was standing now, hands in the pockets of his trouser pants, as he moved towards the large window panes on his right. She can only see the expanse of his back, which even though she would not admit it, she was grateful for. Following where he went brought her attention away from the woman. 

“The woman you saw. Was she wearing a dress adorned with flowers?” He said in almost a whisper.

She gasped, her eyes wide. He broke her mind with a simple question. Reality came crashing afterwards, he believes her? 

He believes her. 

He believes her.

“You —?” She struggled. 

She yelped, bringing her hands immediately to her ears. It was just a knock, quiet and respectful really, but she barely had control over her reactions, especially with what was happening. In a second, Phasma’s head popped right through the opening of the door. 

“They’re ready for you, Ren.” The blonde woman said. 

— —

She was told by Phasma to sit in a corner; the farthest one from the the elongated wooden table; away from all those seated men in black suits. And definitely far away from the man who sat at the end of the table - Kylo Ren who, despite wearing the same corporate ensemble, stood out in the sea of men.

There was an unsettling feeling in the room. It resonated from everyone, rubbing off of her that it turned her insides upside down once more. It was dread — the anticipation of a threat. The threat, being Kylo Ren.

She glanced his way, wondering just what kind of monster he is to be able to elicit such reactions by simply not doing anything. No words were spoken; no curses or commands, Kylo Ren merely sat. In fact, he was sitting lazily. Shoulders relaxed, and his legs and arms crossed comfortably; boredom already showing on his uncannily handsome face. His hazel eyes glistened; lips pursed while his cheeks filled with air. Was he trying not to yawn in front of everyone? Either way, there is nothing in his body language that she could explicitly describe as threatening. And yet, everyone around him looked like they’ve seen a ghost. 

There might be some corporate history, unknown to her that would explain these men’s apprehension. As far she could tell, he was prone to fits of anger. Maybe he did something to make everyone wary of his presence but…

You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Remembering his words made her gasp. She clenched her fists, eyes forcing shut. She was so distracted with the woman in the flower-adorned dress; so overwhelmed with trepidation that it clouded everything behind those dead feet. She finally understood his smirk. He did not find her horror enjoyable. It was a sign of defeat and resignation. He was smirking because she, despite being a complete stranger to him, was like these men. To him, she was like everybody else — afraid of him. 

Her head throbbed as she fought her own conscience. She didn’t forget how much of a jerk he was with Phasma. Everything that happened was nothing short of being nice. Why was she trying to defend him?

She bit her lip, cursing herself for being such a hypocrite. They are the same. Even for different reasons, to others, their mere existence are both sources of fear. And of all people, she should understand. 

When she opened her eyes, she found him staring. Although she couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, she didn’t find it uncomfortable. In fact she stared right back, only to catch a glimpse of Phasma, who stood like a towering monolith behind Kylo Ren, and she was likewise staring at her but with murder in her eyes. 

She gulped, remembering why she was in this board room in the first place. Immediately she unclasped her backpack to get her sketchbook and a pencil. She was supposed to take notes, and she fairly missed the beginning of the meeting because she was drowning in her own thoughts. 

She found it difficult to follow when she doesn’t even know what they’re talking about or the fact that she did not have any idea who was speaking. She did what she does best though. Instead of wasting time in determining which corporate overlord is which, she decided to draw them instead. Conversations were placed in thought bubbles. Those who plainly raised their voices to prove a point, she surprisingly drawn in caricatures — all with big heads. They talked about a merger, or a corporate buy out pretending to be a merger. It crossed her mind whether game publishing was supposed to be this complicated. One thing’s for certain though, just like what Kylo Ren said, it was without a doubt, boring. 

She stole a gaze once more, trying her best not to echo the yawn he wasn’t even trying to suppress. Once his mouth closed, his lips curled before blowing a raspberry. She fought the urge to laugh, but watching him making those silly lip noises in front of these serious men that are either too old or to greedy to comprehend the difference between an RPG game and an NPC was downright fascinating. He is definitely bored to death that it made her smile.

But her smile fell, right in the instant it appeared. The little hairs on her back started to stand, that she subconsciously threw one of her hands to cover it. She glanced to her left, to the other side of her little corner, and that’s when she saw him. The old man from the pantry. 

He was floating, that she established earlier. But what disturbed her was when he started moving, gliding forward. His walking stick started to hit the floor, ringing in her ears like an ominous church bell. She bore her gaze to him for some reason, trying to decipher what was going on. If she had learned anything from the supernatural, if their deaths were nothing short of peaceful, they stay in the place where they died. They repeat their deaths, like a gruesome cycle, over and over again. If he died in the pantry, he should be there on the pantry. Just like the woman who killed herself in Kylo Ren’s office. 

She gasped, glancing at his direction; only to force her mouth shut to prevent herself from shrieking. Her lips then quivered; her hands, and whole body followed soon. 

Why, she asked herself. Why is the woman in the flower adorned dress standing behind Kylo Ren? But there was no time to comprehend for her eyes widened that it might as well fall out from their sockets. There was a child, a toddler, right in the middle of the elongated table. He wasn’t here before. Did he die in this floor too?

He didn’t. Not when the lower half of his small body was missing. She couldn’t bring herself to ponder what happened to this child. By the looks of it, he got run over by something — a car, a truck —that it ripped everything from his stomach below. She doesn’t know, and she didn’t want to know. 

Her breath started to hitch in panic. It was the most number of ghosts she’d seen in one place. It’s not as if it was a cemetery or a hospital, or some war memorial. It was an office. A fucking office!

She fought her way against the sight of both the living and the dead, searching for anything — anyone! Then she remembered. Kylo Ren can see ghosts too.

She found his eyes fixed at her; face still straight as can be but his shoulders tensed as he gripped the arm rest of his seat with both of his hands. She was looking for a sign that he sees them, or at the very least, feel their presence. He does too, right? Because of the woman who killed herself right above his desk. Fuck, there is a child at arms length from him, it was impossible that he could not see it. But there was no fear in those hazel eyes. Just confusion, and the sheer attempt to understand what was going on. 

He doesn’t see them, that she can confirm. Kylo Ren cannot see ghosts. 

She should be disappointed. After all, she thought she found an ally in all this mess. But it was weird, for she felt nothing even close to it. For whatever bat shit crazy that was unraveling behind her cursed eyes, Kylo Ren was in the center of it all even without the ability to see them.

She found the woman’s arms wrapping his neck, akin to a lover’s embrace if she wasn’t translucent. Then the old man, who’s kept banging his stupid walking stick had his long dead limbs extended towards him. And this child, whom she’s supposed to feel sorry for for dying at such a young age had already reached him. This kid was crawling on his torso, feeble and small hands trying to reach for his jaw. The for some ungodly reason, the three of them started opening their mouths. 

Their jaws fell wide, wide enough to reveal the black, bottom pit that were supposed to be their throats; and freakishly large enough to devour Kylo Ren’s head whole. She did not know what was going on but she remembers. That woman, that fucking dead woman, had attempted to do the same thing to Kylo Ren before she chose to fucking die in front of her. 

She gritted her teeth, anger simmering deep. Her hatred for these unearthly beings have never disappeared. It’s just that the fear had consumed her before she could realize how much she fucking despises them.

Get the fuck off. She screamed in her head. 

They weren’t listening. 

She gripped the pencil in her hands tight, her thumb pushing one of its ends with so much force that she felt it snap. 

I said, fuck off.

They simultaneously faced her this time, their usual dead, empty sockets for eyes treaded her direction, as if glaring at her. Then a rumbling sound forced out from their throats, a disgusting growl warning her. 

Scaring her. 

As if she fucking cares. 

“I said, FUCK OFF!” She screamed with all her might. Subconsciously she stood up, and whatever she had on her hands, she hurled towards the phantoms. 

Her chest heaved heavily; expended with all the adrenaline that forced her herself to act bravely. 

The silence that followed barely registered in her mind. Because after everything, the ghosts of the woman, the old man and that toddler had fizzled, disappearing in sight. She was victorious, for the first time in her life, and it felt so damn good. 

She made one final exhale to calm herself down. That’s when she realized that everyone in the board room was staring with their mouths wide open; their eyes showing a complexity of emotions that she cannot decipher. 

Apparently, she had thrown her sketchbook and her broken pencil towards Kylo Ren’s direction. One part of the pencil, hitting Phasma, while the whole bundle of papers held by a metal spring had flown straight to the Chief Executive Officer’s face.


End file.
